I have not had a good track record of celebrating Mother’s Day as a mother. No brunches, or jewelry or flowers for me, which is fine. I’ve never been a big supporter of the “Hallmark” holidays. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother, and I love showing her how much she means to me. For myself, all I ever really want for Mother’s Day is time alone, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards this year as we maintain self-isolation at home as a family. Instead of feeling disappointed or getting upset, I’m choosing to laugh at the irony of this situation. And to keep the laughter going, I’m sharing some of my past Mother’s Day woes for your amusement.

My first Mother’s Day, my daughter was about 6-months old, and for some sleep-deprived reason, my husband and I decided to host a breakfast for our mothers, his brother, and his aunt. We also decided it was a good idea to eat outside, even though we didn’t have enough lawn chairs. It was a sunny day, but also kind of chilly, and we carried on with bagels, cream cheese, and salmon. Things were going fairly well, but as I mentioned before we were sleep-deprived, and I was fading fast, and feeling frustrated that my husband wasn’t helping me more. Hosting six other adults while caring for a baby who would only sleep 3-4 hours straight did not set me up to react in a rational way when I saw my husband using my dedicated tea mug for coffee. From a place in my body I still can’t locate came a howlish, shrieking, banshee yell that then escalated into a tearful monologue about how I had so few pleasures in life and now my morning cup of herbal tea will forever be ruined with his coffee aftertaste. Thankfully, no one who witnessed this incident has made mention of it since.

Year two, my husband had just lost his job, and we were in a frantic savings mode, so we didn’t do anything. To be honest, this time period, in general, is a blur. I still hadn’t had two consecutive full nights of sleep in about 18 months, while working full time, and things were all around stressful.

Mother’s Day 2018 was by far the worst, major catastrophe! I was nine months pregnant and exhausted, so my dear loving husband decided that for Mother’s Day, he would take our 2-year-old to his aunt’s house for a sleepover on that Saturday night. I’d have the TV to myself for the evening, the bed to myself to sleep the WHOLE night through, and then the morning to myself to sleep in, drink my tea in peace, and then meet them at his aunt’s for a simple lunch. Well, I woke up at 7 a.m. out of habit and needing to pee when I heard running water. Thinking that maybe the 3rd-floor toilet was running or the shower was leaking, only to discover water pouring from the ceiling in our guest room! I stood in shock for a moment, and then somehow moved the mattress and box spring out of the room, got buckets from the basement (three flights up and down) called my husband and mother for help, all the while I still hadn’t gone to the bathroom! I laugh, looking back now, but it was horrible. We had roofers come later that day, the following week a remediation specialist for mold removal, and it took months to fix the damage and repair the ceiling. It took so long that it wasn’t until after our second daughter’s baptism later that fall that everything was back in order.

Last year can best be described as “bagel-gate.” It’s still not clear on whether someone forgot to buy bagels, or someone forgot to send an email about who was buying bagels, or if the bagel email was confusing in and of itself. I have no further comment…

This year, Mother’s Day will unfold like most of our Sundays have here in quarantine: Rise and shine somewhere between 5 and 6:30, throw some microwave waffles at the girls as they watch a mini-marathon of “PJ Masks” or “Doc McStuffins,” or maybe even “Supermonsters.” I will then go back to sleep on the couch until around 7:30 or so. Then it’s a cup of tea and scarfing down leftover waffles. Happy Mother’s Day!